


Jackson Von Treebeard

by coconutcranberries (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everybody Lives, F/M, Fluff, Getting Lost, Hiking, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Pack Bonding, Pack Feels, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Season/Series 03, Swearing, Talking Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/coconutcranberries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an exercise in Pack Bonding, which Stiles protests to, mostly because it actually requires exercise, but also because it leads to a near death experience at the hands (or branches) of a whiny, Jackson-esque tree. And Derek is there, of course, laughing at him. Where else would Derek be?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jackson Von Treebeard

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I ... I'm not really sure what this is? I wanted to write something fluffy, and fun, and funny, and I doubt I succeeded, but hey ho, here we go, i say a little too high and blah. Basically, they kind of get lost in the woods during pack bonding and nothing bad happens except that they meet a tree that's a little different than most trees. And then there is fluff and laughter. So, enjoy? :) Happy Reading. 
> 
> For kickasscookieeater, who aced her chemisty exam and rules the world with sugary smiles :)

“I still don’t get why I have to drive with you.” Stiles snaps, slamming the door to the Camaro closed. Derek glares mutinously at him from the driver’s seat, as if Stiles’ puny human strength could actually damage his precious car doors. “Actually, that’s not what’s bothering me. Do you want to know what’s bothering me, Derek?” 

Derek doesn’t, if his stare is anything to go by. “Put your seat belt on.” 

“What’s bothering me,” Stiles says, crossing his arms defiantly. “Is that you let Scott drive my Jeep.”

Derek really does not appear to understand the gravity of the situation. He starts up the car in one smooth motion, and Stiles resolutely does not think of how many tries it would have taken to get his Jeep to start. 

“Scott! You let Scott drive my Jeep. I’m the only one who’s supposed to drive my Jeep, and you stole my keys and gave them to Scott! He’s going to crash and die and total my Jeep, and then we’ll be left cleaning up the mess he leaves behind.” 

Derek grits his teeth. “Stiles, put your seat belt on before I put you through a window.” 

Stiles does put his seat belt on, but he maintains that it’s just because his Dad is the Sheriff and not because Derek’s eyes are tinged red. 

“Okay, look, I promise I’ll shut up if you just explain why I have to drive with you.” 

Derek sighs explosively, pulls away from the Stilinski residence and sets off down the road without waiting for the rest of the pack. “You’re a human.” 

Stiles lets the silence sit for a few seconds before he laughs incredulously. “Wow, what an astounding observation. You are very astute, even for a werewolf.”

“I meant,” Derek interrupts, before Stiles can continue mocking him. “This is a tracking exercise, designed specifically for werewolves. We walk through the woods and leave a trail for the rest of them to follow. Other than that, I’m not taking part, and neither are you, because you’re human. It makes sense to go in these groups.” 

“Wait, I thought we were driving to the end of the course?” 

Derek shakes his head but looks relieved at the lack of sarcasm, which Stiles finds hypocritical since Derek practically breathes sarcasm. “Scott will drive the rest of the pack to the start of the course and then they’ll track their way to us. We need to get their first so that they can follow us.” 

“Fine.” Stiles grumbles, shifting around until he gets comfortable. He’s tempted to put his feet up on the dashboard, but he suspects Derek might rip them off if he does, and he quite likes his feet attached to his body. “Wait a minute, Allison and Lydia are human, but they’re still going with the others.”

“Allison’s a hunter, so she has experience with tracking and her Dad wants her to practice. Lydia needs to stay with Jackson in case he loses control.” Derek raises an eyebrow at him. “Besides, did you actually want to go with them?”

"Hell no.” Stiles says cheerily. “I just enjoy irritating you. I’m not traipsing through the woods with that lot arguing with each other unless I absolutely have to. You know Scott and Jackson are going to end up brawling, and Lydia and Allison will have to break them apart. Isaac and Erica will probably go off on their own convinced they know the right way, until Boyd finally drags them in the actual right direction.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.” Derek says, after a short pause. 

“I don’t hear you disagreeing.” 

Derek almost smiles, and then Stiles moves his hand in search of some good music. The half-smile disappears. 

“Don’t even think of putting the radio on.” Derek says, eyeing Stiles’ twitching fingers. He shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles innocently. 

“I wasn’t going to, it would spoil the lovely conversation we have going on here.” 

Derek sighs, his knuckles turning white around the steering wheel. “It’s at the next town over, and I’m not spending the whole drive listening to the shit that’s in the Top Ten, or whatever it is.” 

Stiles huffs, fiddles with the controls for the window to keep his hands busy. “I don’t listen to that stuff, it’s all shit. But I’m bored.” 

“We’ve only been in the car for five minutes.” Derek growls, pressing a little harder on the gas. “Just play candy crush on your phone.” 

Stiles whips his head around to gape at Derek in shock, mouth wide open. “You know what Candy Crush is?” 

Derek’s face goes blank, and he shifts in his seat, making the leather squeak. “Erica made me download it.” He admits grudgingly, under Stiles’ intense stare. 

Stiles laughs for a full five minutes, then turns the volume up on his phone while he plays Candy Crush just for the pleasure of hearing Derek grind his teeth. 

 

 

 

Stiles doesn’t understand how this happened. Derek’s a _werewolf_ , surely that means he’s immune to getting lost, especially out here in the fucking wilderness. There are trees for miles all around and Stiles isn’t even sure which way they came any more. 

“How is it that you can smell when I’ve touched your damn hot chocolate but you can’t use your magical, all-smelling nose to find your way through the woods?” He stomps the heels of his shoes into the leaves with each step. 

Typically, Derek doesn’t reply, although Stiles can practically hear him grinding his teeth together angrily, like he’s imagining chewing on Stiles’ neck. Not that Stiles would be opposed to Derek biting-

“I haven’t been here before Stiles. I don’t recognise any of the scents.” 

Stiles throws his arms out and stalks after Derek, who speeds up minutely every time Stiles does. Eventually Stiles gives up and just concentrates on not tripping over his own feet, or stray twigs, or _air_. 

“Ridiculous, fucking supernatural idiots, what’s even the point,” Stiles mutters angrily, kicking leaves out of the way. They’ve been out here for at least two hours now and the sun is high in the sky. The heat is sweltering, his t-shirt sticking to his skin. Stiles can feel his heart thudding in his chest and a faint burn in his calves from walking uphill, his breath   
coming shorter and shorter. 

Derek, the bastard, is fucking whistling. Stiles suspects he’s only doing it because he knows it irritates Stiles. The sound grates on Stiles’ ears as he trudges after the man, eyeing the way the muscles shift in Derek’s back with reluctant admiration. Derek has a large backpack slung over one shoulder, and he’s barely breaking a sweat. Stiles stops for a second, blowing out a breath and collapsing against a nearby tree. Derek doesn’t bother waiting for him. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t taken your shirt off yet, it’s not like you to waste an opportunity to make everyone else feel flabby and inferior. You practically repel clothes in any other situation. I wouldn’t be surprised if you stripped at a funeral, _you big, lousy, stupid werewolf_.” 

He punctuates each insult with a kick at the tree he’s leaning against, the heel of his converse digging into the bark. 

The next thing he knows, Stiles is weightless. There’s something rough coiled around his ankles, something that tightens its grip as Stiles is flung into the air. The world blurs into a mass of blue sky and green and brown. Stiles groans as his stomach drops. 

He can hear Derek growling and shouting, but Stiles can’t see the man from his spectacular birds-eye view of the forest. It also doesn’t help that his eyes are squeezed shut. 

“Stiles! Stiles, answer me!” 

Stiles opens one eye warily and tilts his head sideways, which is just weird upside-down. He’s not too high up, but whatever grabbed him has a tight hold on his ankles. The floor looks a million miles away, although Derek could probably reach him if he grabbed a ladder. Stiles glances around, but there are no conveniently placed ladders leaning against any trees. Huh, shame. Maybe Derek can jump up and grab him. 

“How high can werewolves jump?” Stiles shouts, waving one of his hands. His arms are hanging loosely around his head, his shirt falling off of his shoulders. Stiles is going to be so pissed if it lands in mud- this is his _favourite_ shirt. 

“Do you really think now is the time for your werewolf questions? Or is this another one of those shitty jokes you and Scott made up?” Derek sounds pissed off and his voice is slightly slurred, like he’s speaking through fangs.

Stiles makes an offended noise, swinging dangerously close to the tree trunk. 

“Those jokes were classic,” he yells indignantly, scrambling in mid-air. He open his mouth to shout at Derek some more, because honestly, it’s his favourite pastime, when his eyes catch on the tree. He freezes, mouth hanging open, dangling in the air like some kind of upended puppet. 

“Did you step in a trap? I didn’t think there were hunters around here, but trust you to find them if they are-” Stiles interrupts Derek mid-growl, hissing frantically out of the corner of his mouth.

“Derek, shut up and get me down _before the tree eats me_.” 

Stiles keeps his eyes trained on the tree trunk. A face blinks back slowly, carved into the bark. Its leaf-shaped eyes are the soft colour of autumn. The nose is a darker wood than the rest of it, as if it’s been sun burnt. A mouth yawns widely at Stiles, who peers warily inside and sighs in relief when he sees a plain circle of wood. 

“Never mind, I don’t think it even has teeth.” 

“Stiles, what the hell is going on?” 

“We’ve been transported into that forest in Lord of the Rings. I told you all that our lives were too much like a TV programme, but none of you listened. How many times did I bring that up?” Stiles is still swaying slightly, and when he glances down he gets a sick, dizzy rush to his head. It reminds him of the time when he and Scott were little and Stiles almost fell out of the tree house in Scott’s back yard. 

They had been arguing over who broke Scott’s Spiderman figure-Stiles still maintains that Scott stood on it, and naturally, the only way to solve such an argument was by wrestling. The result left Stiles hanging upside down with his legs and torso tangled in the rope ladder, shrieking like a girl with Scott crying in the background. Melissa had laughed her ass off before finally climbing to the rescue. 

Of course, back then there were no werewolves or talking trees. 

“You can say ‘I told you so’ later, once you tell me what’s going on.” Derek growls back. Stiles sighs, breaking out of his reverie and gesturing at the tree. 

“The tree is alive. It has some kind of face on it, like the ones from Lord of the Rings. I’m guessing its branches are hands. Now, are you going to get me down or what?”

“I don’t know, that tree looks pretty attached to you.” Derek sounds cheerful all of a sudden. Stiles hates him. 

“I hate you,” Stiles hisses, “I hate you and I hate your face. I hate werewolves.” 

There’s a pause before Derek answers him.

“I counted four lies there.” Derek says smugly, from somewhere below Stiles, “What was that about my face?” 

Stiles lets out a strangled yell and kicks out, his feet protesting in their restraints. He is not blushing- it’s just the blood rushing to his head. Stiles shuts his eyes in an effort to block out the sight of an upside down Derek Hale sniggering at him. Taking a deep breath, Stiles swings forward, opening his eyes and tapping the tree where he thinks the temple should be. The tree looks taken aback, blinking hugely up at Stiles, who waves. 

“Hey, dude, Mr Treebeard, do you think you could put me down? Slowly though, I don’t really want to be a pancake if I can avoid it.” He adds hurriedly, offering a strained smile at the wooden face. 

“You kicked me.” 

Stiles gapes at the tree and Derek stops laughing abruptly. 

“You’re a kid!” Stiles blurts out, eyes wide in surprise. 

“You kicked me,” Says the tree again. The voice is young, a little high-pitched and petulant, an awful lot like Jackson’s used to be before puberty hit. It sounds three seconds away from the mother of all temper tantrum. 

“I did! I did kick you and I’m very sorry about that,” Stiles gestures wildly in the air as the leaves around him rustle back and forth, searching frantically for something to appease the tree, “But, uh, if you let me down, I’ll do something for you!”

“Like what?” The tree sounds suspicious, but the rustling calms down. 

“Anything, just please, for the love of God, put me down before I throw up all over your roots.” Derek starts laughing again as Stiles groans, wrapping his arms around his stomach. The tree makes a high-pitched sound of disgust and Stiles is once again reminded of Jackson, when Stiles went too near his Porsche in his muddy lacrosse kit. 

The ground rushes up to meet Stiles as he hurtles towards it, the tree apparently eager to get rid of Stiles before he makes a mess. Stiles yelps and covers his eyes. The grip around his ankles loosens before disappearing completely and Stiles lands with a thump in the leaves, flat on his back and blinking blearily at the clear sky. 

A stubbly shadow enters Stiles’ vision and he grimaces. Derek grins down at him before arranging his expression into its usual flat stare.

“Have a nice trip?” Stiles glares at the man and contemplates just curling up and never moving again. After Derek nudges him in the ribs with his foot, he staggers to his feet, turning his glare from Derek to the tree, which is standing innocently to his left, branches swaying happily in a non-existent breeze. 

“Alright, what do you want?” The tree looks thoughtful for a second before shrugging, arranging its face into a disinterested sneer. 

“I doubt someone like you has anything worthwhile to offer.” Stiles narrows his eyes, mouth working furiously. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He snaps. Derek sighs and wraps a hand around his wrist, tugging him backwards and away from the tree. 

“Shut up, Stiles, leave the tree alone. You’ve wasted enough time already.” Stiles gives a cry of outrage as the tree laughs mockingly, trying uselessly to escape Derek’s grip. 

“And you can shut up too,” Derek calls over his shoulder. “Even if you are a tree, you’re just a kid. I’m pretty sure your parents are around here somewhere. Do you want me to wake them up?” Stiles turns his head enough to see the Jackson-tree freeze, its branches and leaves going still as it lets out a strangled noise. Stiles watches it turns paler, more of a pine colour. 

Stiles grins happily, allowing Derek to tug him forward up the rest of the slope. There’s silence for a few minutes as they leave the clearing before Stiles clears his throat. 

“So, did you figure out where we are yet or are we still lost?” 

He’s too busy laughing to care when Derek shoves him face-first into a pile of leaves. 

 

They do eventually find a clear space that marks the end of the course. There’s a picnic table set next to some fencing, and Stiles flops down to lie across the length of the bench. Derek rolls his eyes and sits opposite him. Stiles hears him fumbling with the backpack and leans up onto his elbows to peer over the table, breath still coming quickly. 

“I thought you’d be used to exercise by now.” Derek looks remarkably relaxed out here. He passes Stiles a water bottle, which Stiles gulps down quickly, sitting up straight so that he doesn’t choke and die. His knees bump against Derek’s under the table, but he’s too hot and flustered to move them away. 

“You mean after all the running for our lives stuff that we do?” He screws the lid back on the bottle and balances it on the edge of the table. Derek watches him with a raised eyebrow, but Stiles just shrugs. 

“Actually, I was talking about lacrosse.” Derek says wryly. “But I guess running through the woods is one way of keeping fit.” 

Stiles grins at his bottle, doesn’t look up at Derek in case it spooks him out of this calm, contented way of talking. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll never be first line material, especially not while Jackson’s team captain.”

“Co-Captain.” Derek murmurs. “Jackson’s only the Co-Captain and it shouldn’t matter anyway, if you’re good enough.” There’s a teasing glint in his eye that Stiles likes, and he rolls his own eyes to hide exactly how much he’s enjoying this. 

The truth is that Stiles likes Derek. The man has a certain dry humour that Stiles can appreciate, and he’s the only person barring Lydia who can match him in a battle of wits.   
When he stops bossing people around and flashing his fangs, he’s not a bad dude to hang out with. 

“How long do you think it will take them to find us?” Stiles asks quietly, checking his phone. There’s not much signal, only one bar, but he fires a text to his dad anyway to assure him that he’s not dead, and he didn’t get attacked by were-rabbits or something. “Do you think were-rabbits are a thing?”

“If you’re concerned about them being attacked by were-rabbits, I don’t think you have to worry.” Derek says incredulously, as if he’s wondering exactly what goes on in Stiles’ brain. Stiles would tell him not to bother wondering; Stiles doesn’t even know. 

“But you don’t know for sure.” Stiles says shrewdly, eyes narrow. Derek snorts, grinning and shakes his head. “Dude, if there really are were-rabbits, I’m not going to raise a finger if they want to eat you; I’m just going to run and leave you to become a nice, wolfy dish.” 

Derek grins, bares his teeth. “So who’s going to protect from becoming dessert?” 

“Scott will.” He says loyally, grabbing the rucksack. “Besides, I can take on a few were-rabbits.” 

“And I can’t?” Derek scoffs. Stiles shrugs, digging through the bag. It’s full of Tupperware Boxes, and Stiles opens each one in turn, searching for something to eat that won’t get him glared at by hungry werewolves. “What are you doing?” 

“Foraging.” Stiles says, snapping open the lid on a box of blueberries. He grins in triumph, pops a couple in his mouth and shoves the bag back towards Derek. Derek rounds the table and sits next to Stiles, making him jump in surprise and confusion. 

Derek spears a blueberry on the end of his claw, and the juice runs down his hand as he grins wolfishly. 

“Do you think the blueberries would stay there if you put them on the end of your fangs?” 

Derek finishes licking off the blueberry juice- and Stiles is resolutely ignoring the way his stomach jumps and flutters at the sight. Derek pops his fangs. “Try it and see.” 

Stiles stares at the sharp teeth and shudders. “No thanks, I like my fingers on the end of my hands.” 

Derek is just about to retort when the pack bursts through the trees into the clearing, squabbling loudly. Stiles jumps, and surprisingly, so does Derek. Stiles feels sort of proud about that, since it means Derek was relaxed enough not to be on guard, not to be listening out for others. 

“Hey, you made it!” Stiles waves, hiding the box of blueberries under his leg. “How was it?” 

“Piece of cake.” Jackson says snidely, sliding onto the bench opposite them. Lydia sits primly next to them, not a hair out of place. There is a small stripe of dirt on her left cheek though, which makes Stiles feel better over his bedraggled appearance. He’s pretty sure there are even twigs in his boxers. 

“Well, that’s a relief.” Derek says deadpan, obviously hoping for something a little bit more useful. 

Scott slumps against Stiles’ shoulder, grinning and panting happily. Stiles shoves him away and scoops a pork pie out of the bag, shoving it into Scott’s hand to distract him from sweating all over him. Scott chews it in two bites, gulps down a bottle of water and then sprawls on the grass, smiling up at the sky. Stiles leans over to look at him. 

“For someone who was so against pack bonding exercises, you sure seem to be having a good time.” 

Scott doesn’t answer, his attention zeroing in on Allison, who lowers herself gracefully onto the ground near Scott’s legs, a Tupperware box of strawberries in her hands. 

Stiles tunes back in to the conversation around the table, where Erica, Isaac and Boyd are dutifully filling Derek in on the important details of the exercise. Well, Boyd is playing the useful beta, but Erica and Isaac are fighting over a box full of cooked meat. 

“Just share it.” Stiles says exasperatingly, watching as Erica’s elbow veers towards Lydia’s head. Lydia slaps her arm away, glaring, before turning to snap at Jackson for hogging the water. 

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek, as if to say I told you so, because he absolutely called it. There’s no way they can all exist even marginally peacefully for more than five minutes. Derek rolls his eyes, but there’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth. 

“And that was it.” Boyd finishes, voice dry as he half watches Erica and Isaac begrudgingly share the chicken between them, one eye on his alpha. “Except for Jackson hallucinating.”

Jackson growls warningly from around his sandwich, which isn’t even close to menacing. 

“He’s delusional.” Scott pipes up helpfully from the ground, as Allison feeds him a strawberry. Stiles makes a disgusted face, then grins gleefully at Jackson. 

“I was not hallucinating, and I’m not delusional. It really did kick me.” Jackson snaps. Lydia rubs his shoulder soothingly, rolls her eyes and steals the other half of his sandwich. 

“What kicked you?” Derek says wearily. He looks as if he regrets asking the question as soon as he opens his mouth. Stiles sneaks him a handful of blueberries, and he gives Stiles a grateful and amused glance. 

“A tree.” Jackson says moodily, grumbling over his food. 

Derek freezes, a handful of blueberries paused halfway towards his mouth and lets out a strained sound. Stiles chokes on his own food, giggling and coughing before he gives up and tips backwards off the bench, laughing his ass off hysterically. 

He can vaguely hear everyone start to ask questions, and he knows Jackson is yelling, but he’s too busy laughing. He lies half on the bench, stares up at the sky and listens to his laughter mix with Derek’s, their pack existing semi-peacefully around them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know exactly how awful it was in great detail :D And if you wanna say something nice, that's welcome too! Bye People of Earth :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Try it and see](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149839) by [SolitarianKnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolitarianKnight/pseuds/SolitarianKnight)




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